Pursuit
by lightmylumiere
Summary: "All that pursues me is tomorrow's bread" but it wasn't always that way. Laurel was too smart for her own good, and she wished for nothing more than a life as someone other than the life of a palace servant. So she went into the woods, hoping to find a better live, not knowing that she'd find love. (The Baker's Wife back story. Rating subject to change, please review!)
1. Prologue: The Butler's Daughters

Once upon a time there lived a man and his wife. They resided in a relatively nice cottage behind the palace. He was a hardworking butler, and she was serving the royal family as a loyal governess and housekeeper. The two lived a humble life aided slightly by the king and queen. Being a governess to the two princes kept the butler's wife busy, so busy that she didn't worry about having children of her own. The butler devoted himself to his work and knew that one day they would have a family, but only when the time was right.

The time proved to be right when the younger of the two princes entered his third year, and the butler and his wife were blessed with a daughter. She had blonde hair and forest green eyes, and her parents named her Laurel. Laurel was still a baby when the second daughter was born, Rachel, who had blue eyes and blonde hair. Each child grew up slightly different from the other: Laurel in the likeness of her hardworking and loyal parents, and Rachel in the way of her charming environment. Laurel learned to do chores from her mother, and the butler taught Rachel how to dance and to behave like a lady. Laurel never worried about seeming like a lady. She knew that hard work was rewarded, and she watched her mother's actions keenly.

The butler's wife had gotten to a state of health where she could no longer work, so she had ten-year-old Laurel go in to watch the princes and the littler princesses as her own charges (even though the princes were older than her and they should have been old enough to watch themselves). Rachel would come into the nursery and play with the children, impressing them with her stories and games so that her sister could actually get some work done. Based on how much her own children spent with the royal ones, the butler's wife knew that one of her daughters would end up married to a prince, but she wasn't sure whether it would be the smart daughter or the nice daughter.

Years passed and the daughters of the butler grew more beautiful. The butler worked as hard as he could to provide a good life for his bedridden wife and his youngest daughter. Laurel made herself useful in the palace—tutoring the princesses, mending clothes, cooking, cleaning—doing all the things her mother used to do. Laurel bettered her diction and her look so that she could impress the royal family and prove herself a worthy member of society. She wanted to give off a nice appearance—an appearance the king and queen would, perhaps, keep around even after the children no longer needed a governess. She wasn't just a servant… she was determined to be so much more. Rachel frolicked through the gardens, flirting with the princes and galavanting with the princesses. She lived like she was in a story: nothing could go wrong so long as Laurel and the butler could be the strong members of the family. Even after the butler's wife died, Rachel continued to play and Laurel continued to strive for greatness.

The butler continued to work very hard to provide for his younger child knowing good and well that Laurel could take care of herself. Eventually, Laurel knew, she would have to support both her and Rachel.

Rachel lived in a world of absolute fantasy and never took any responsibility for her own actions. She pined after the younger prince, who was about four years older than she was, and made sure that she was always on her best behavior when the king was around. She was still whimsical and carefree, a wonderful shift from her responsible sister and her mother before her. While Rachel was off playing, Laurel took up everything that Rachel should have been doing—mending clothes, sweeping, and watching the princesses day and night. Part of Rachel's beauty was how carefree she was. Laurel seemed a little too knowing to be pretty to the princes, and she gave up trying to impress those two boys.

There was so much, Laurel realized, that she didn't know about the world. She had never left the palace and her parent's cottage behind it. What did the world have to offer? If it had anything to offer, there had to have been something for her. If she wasn't so afraid, she would go out and get it. But there was nothing wrong with the palace—they were profitable employers, and it ran in the family—and she saw no reason to leave her family behind.

One day Laurel was sitting by the fire in the palace kitchen mending one of Rachel's dresses, soot and flour mixed over Laurel's face. She had spent quite a bit of the day in the kitchen, working hard to prepare for the queen's upcoming ball to honor her birthday. The youngest princess came down the stairs and noted the flour on Laurel's cheeks. "Yes, honey, I've been baking." The child, with greedily grabbing hands, reached after the balls of cookie dough. "No no, those aren't baked yet. And they're not for you. They're for your mother." Laurel picked up the child and put her on her hip. The little girl was pouting as she looked down on the beautifully cream cookie dough. "I have to roll it out, see? Then we cut it…" Laurel set the child down on the counter in a small spot of flour, rolling the dough out with as much force as she could muster, then pressing a metal cookie cutter into the dough and pulling the shape out clean. The small child clapped wildly. "Do you want to cut one? Cut one out for mama?"

The younger prince, who Laurel saw more often than the older, came in and scoffed at the scene he just witnessed. "Don't you have work to be doing instead of playing 'house' with my little sister?" The little girl jumped off the counter in fear of her brother's report to their mother and father. They just looked at one another for a few seconds and his eyes narrowed, sending the little girl up the stairs without so much as another word. Laurel took a rag out of her apron pocket and tried to clean off some of the dirt on her face. As the little princess exited, her brother noted the flour on the back of her dress. "You'll have to clean that, too, now."

"She was helping me make cookies for your mother's birthday, _sire_." She said through gritted teeth, tucking the rag back into her apron pocket. She hated to call this boy that she babysat her superior, but he was seventeen now and she was almost fifteen years old, and he was also a prince. "Shortbreads, my mama always made them."

_Peasant food_, thought the prince grimly. But he didn't comment. "Where's your sister? You know, the pretty one." That stung Laurel a lot more than it should have. She knew that none of the princes found her beautiful, and compared to Rachel she was miserably plain. She spoke too much, and sometimes she honestly believed Rachel spoke too little. Laurel was very blunt, and tended to speak her mind or say nothing whatsoever, and there was no in between. She was thin enough, she thought, but she was not lithe like Rachel—she was shapely, and she filled out her dresses nicely. Her green eyes were not found to be beautiful by anyone, and she didn't know anyone else who had them. She was different, but different didn't mean beautiful or ugly. He realized what he had said but was to vain to take it back. She threw her braid over her shoulder and thought about where her sister could have been. "It doesn't matter where she is _now_. Mother wants her to come to the royal dinner tomorrow… she's to be my brothers guest. Make sure she wears something nice, and _you_ stay out of sight." The prince left, and when he did she felt nothing but hurt.

Rachel was the one that the royal family always liked more. She didn't ask questions, she pleased their father, she always needed to depend on someone and she wasn't as miserably headstrong as Laurel was. On top of that, she was beautiful and everyone recognized that. Laurel continued to work on a beautiful dress for Rachel, an early birthday present. Now, she figured, if she was no help to any of her family and no help to her employers, it was to be a going away present. There had to be somewhere in the world where she could be helpful and not a hassle. She had to find a place in the world where they respected her knowledge and treated her in a way that she wished to be treated.

Laurel finished the cookies quickly. She made icing, flooded the cookies, splattered them with sugar, put them in a little basket (and set it high enough that the children wouldn't try to mess with them), and quickly finished mending her sister's dress. This was the final straw. She didn't have to worry about what happened to Rachel, she had a prince. Laurel didn't have to worry about impressing her mother or keeping her tradition alive, she was going to find a new tradition of her own. She had marketable skills! Someone was bound to want her for one reason or another. She may not have been the beautiful daughter, but she was clever and witty and skillful. There had to be a reward for that, even if that reward wasn't a prince!

With new determination, her sister's dress now hanging in the cottage and a note on her father's bedside table, Laurel headed into the woods.

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so this was the first installment of my first story for _Into the Woods. _I've been fascinated with the Baker's Wife since I first heard the music, and I've always wanted to write her back story. Please review and let me know what you think of it!_


	2. A Night in the Woods

The woods were a dangerous place for a young lady to be alone.

Laurel had never been afraid of the woods; they were just trees. In the daytime she had watched through the palace nursery window at the horses that charged towards the castle. Every now and then she imagined that one of the people on the horses had been coming for her, and that they were taking her away to another kingdom, where _she_ would be treated like royalty. Of course those follies died in her mind and looking back on them she realized how foolish they were. Instead of working she had spent time wishing.

The woods were very different once you were in them than they were when you were just looking at the trees from a window. She heard howling of wolves and questioned whether or not to turn back. No, there was nothing for her if she turned back. She had written out the reason for her departure—_Father, I have realized there is nothing for me at the palace and soon Rachel will be married, and I no longer wish to be a hassle for you, your older daughter, Laurel_—and left it for her unfortunately illiterate father. Certainly they would understand that a written note meant that she wasn't coming back…

Laurel watched the branches above her head break in space to reveal the moonlight shining all around her. Not too far from where she was she saw a little house in the woods, a quaint little cottage right between the palace and the nearest village. There was a little tuft of smoke coming from the chimney and she wondered if, perhaps, she could charm her way into the person's home just long enough that she was protected from this ever-howling wolf she heard. She knocked on the door and hoped that someone would answer.

An older woman with white hair and a red robe opened the door, looking at Laurel with a smile and adjusting her glasses. "Can I help you, my dear?" She asked, looking at the blonde teenager carrying a small carpetbag. "Have you lost your way?"

Had she lost her way? _I had no way to lose…_ "I'm sorry, ma'am, I shouldn't have bothered you… I haven't anywhere else to go, and there's something howling out there…" The old woman looked around, checking for the wolf, and quickly ushered the teenager inside. She took her bag and threw it on the kitchen table, locked the door, and pulled her towards the fire. The heat was refreshing to Laurel, sending a chill up her spine unexpectedly.

"I've got some extra soup on the fire, and an extra bedroom." The woman said without much introduction. Laurel wondered why a woman would be so prepared as to have so much extra space. "You must stay the night. That wolf's always prowling the woods for a little lady to lunch on. It won't be safe to go out again until tomorrow morning… follow the path, don't stray… it'll lead you to the next village." The woman came over and served Laurel a bowl of soup, and she inspected it before eating. Tomato soup, with a crust of bread to sop up what she couldn't get with her spoon… it smelled delicious, but it was only right to make sure the food wasn't poisoned. What was this woman, and did she know she was passing through the woods and would seek shelter with her… "Oh, I hope my daughter followed the path… she's so forgetful sometimes…"

"You have a daughter?" Laurel asked the old woman.

She nodded, sitting in her rocking chair and stitching some ribbons onto some red fabric. "Yes, not too much older than you, and she visits me from time to time. She and her husband live two villages away. She came by just yesterday, and I guess I still cook like she'll be coming back every meal… she has her own family take care of now." The old woman seemed disheartened by her daughter's unfortunate aging. All children grew up, Laurel had watched the little princesses since they were infants, and now they were five and three. The real question was would Laurel's mother have been proud of how she grew up? She couldn't help but wonder. The subject quickly turned on Laurel. "And what of your family? Do you have one?"

_Yes, _Laurel thought, and tried to figure out the right things to say. _I have a sister that's bound to marry a prince, a dead mother who left me her job, and a father that believes I need to do everything on my own and my sister needs to be doted on. _"No." She lied, choosing the simpler answer. "I mean, I'm sure they're—you know—" The old woman just nodded knowingly. Laurel took a sip of her soup. "Thank you, by the way. How kind that you took in a stranger for an evening."

"I'll appreciate the company." The old woman grinned. Laurel continued to drink her soup, not really wishing to break the silence. She didn't want to say something to offend the woman, and she wasn't a particularly great conversationalist it seemed. She spoke well, but what was appropriate to speak about? There were so many things she still didn't know: she had read as many books in the palace library as she could get her hands on, she knew many little skills that she figured would be useful, but she didn't know anything about the real world. The woman watched her eating and was ready to break the silence herself. "You must be famished, aren't you? You look like you've been running for a week. Where did you say you're from?"

_I didn't,_ Laurel realized and then began to think. "Not that far away, actually… I was a servant to a wealthier family not too far from here… I've been gone a day or so." The woman nodded and pretended to understand. Laurel just figured she didn't really get it, but was it possible that she did? Was it possible that there was more to this woman than there appeared to be? There was more to Laurel than what was on the surface. Certainly there had to be someone else who saw that beauty was just skin deep…

Not too long after she had finished her soup, the woman showed her to the guest bedroom. There was a nice bed with a metal headboard and a thick feather mattress, a homemade quilt, and a fluffy pillow at the head of the bed. The chest-of-drawers, once she looked into it, were filled with mostly unworn clothing. Looking into the bright glass mirror she saw herself as she was instead of how she saw herself in the castle pans and plates. She was a mess, and she could finally see that. The woman closed the door and left Laurel with a candle to light the room. _What a sight am I_, Laurel thought, _disheveled and dirty…_ Laurel reached into her bag and pulled out one of her mother's old nightgowns, tucked herself into bed and tried to go to sleep.

Her mind wandered. What was to become of her? She couldn't return home now that she had left. She refused to go crawling back to the palace to be treated like dirt when she could actually make money for doing half the work she was doing. She wouldn't have to do the work of her and her sister while her sister pretended to flit around like a fairy. Laurel had no doubt that everything would be fine—her father could take care of Rachel, it's what he had been doing for a long time. And Rachel would be fine, she didn't need Laurel to protect her. No one needed Laurel… did they? The prince made it very clear she wasn't wanted. She wasn't pretty like a princess should be, she talked too much, and she didn't take directions as well as she should have. For some reason she stumbled upon this old woman's house in the woods and out of kindness the woman let her in. Was it fate that she was supposed to meet this woman? Was this where she was meant to be? No. She was meant to do something great, she just didn't know what yet…

If she slept on it, she figured, she would have strength to continue her journey and find her place in the world. It wasn't in a cottage in the woods, she knew that, but it had to be out there somewhere.

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here's the second installment of the story! I've decided that it was very possible that the Baker's Wife, before she became the Baker's wife, possibly met some of the other characters before her beloved Baker. Please review, I'd love to hear more feedback on the story! I hope to have the next installment up speedily!_


	3. Red and White

It was early in the morning and Laurel was ready to continue on her way.

The old woman stood in the doorway while she packed her bag. "You weren't planning on leaving without saying goodbye, were you?" Laurel shook her head and brushed her hair, looking at herself in the mirror. With a little cleaning done the night before she was looking a little healthier, actually looking like a decently pretty girl. The old woman watched her keenly and sat down on the bed while she continued to primp. "You could take the other dresses with you, you know. The one you have now won't do… my daughter's not coming back for them…and if she has a daughter, well..."

The woman threw them into the bag and helped Laurel tie back her hair with a black ribbon. The ribbon perfectly matched the fabric of the black and red corseted dress that the old woman picked out for Laurel from the chest-of-drawers. She helped lace her into it. Laurel had never been in a dress quite that nice, and she didn't recall ever being properly laced into a corset. The woman had her twirl around and smiled as she caught glimpse of herself in the mirror—for the first time in Laurel's life, she felt beautiful.

"Well you must keep going, mustn't you? I think I've got some bread or a sticky bun for you to take as breakfast…" Laurel smiled and wrapped the kind old woman in the biggest hug she could muster. The woman nearly fell back. Laurel detached herself from the kind soul, smiling hugely and darting into the kitchen. Laurel took two of the sticky buns off of the plate on the table. "I think there's leftover soup in the pot, too, if you want to take it. I won't be eating it…"

"Thank you, ma'am, but I will be fine. You've already been so kind to me." Laurel, although her morals were weak enough to allow her to impose on an old woman, was strong on one belief—she didn't need help as much as other people needed _her _help. She was helpful, hardworking… that's what she always was. She could help herself.

The old woman saw Laurel in her doorway and, for a moment, she saw her as someone different. She saw Laurel as a younger girl, with less of a figure, and brown curls on her shoulders. Her eyes were hauntingly brown, and around her shoulders hung this bright red cape, much like the one she had been sewing the day Laurel came in. She didn't look like Laurel, only the innocence in her face, but she actually reminded the old woman of her daughter. The old woman came to her senses and realized she was just staring at Laurel. "Yes, well, I suppose you should be on your way. If you need anything, you know where to find me." Laurel nodded, and with a small smile continued on her way through the woods.

The woods weren't frightening in the daytime. Laurel saw the flowers along the path and wondered how some place so beautiful could be so terrifying in the darkness. The sunshine painted more vivid colors than the shade. How did people find themselves living in the woods, was it because they had no fear? She had been so afraid in the darkness, but in the light she forgot all the fear she had.

There were signs pointing her in the direction of a close village, and she walked as quickly as she could carry herself. The bag was growing heavier and heavier, and she continued to carry it as best she could. Eventually she saw the trees begin to clear and a farm-like community filled with hustle and bustle. Everyone was running to and fro, and animals were running through the streets just like the children. She walked down the little street and came upon a small butcher's shop. Oh, the food looked delightful, but she realized she had no money. She'd need to find a job, and quickly. Somehow she would make money so she didn't have to depend on the fleeting kindness.

The further Laurel walked down the street, she realized that she was walking towards an old farmhouse where she could hear the bickering of the people inside. _Why, _she wondered, _am I heading over here? There's no business here, it's the edge of the village._ But for one reason or another she was walking towards the house, like she was being pulled by some force. Suddenly the argument stopped and there was only a woman screaming and a man leaving. He had a flannel shirt on with the sleeves rolled up, suspenders holding up his dirty brown pants. He glared at Laurel and continued to mutter things to himself. The door to the house was still wide open and Laurel went to close it, only to find that the woman was sobbing and there was a child crying and sitting on the floor.

The lady was not particularly beautiful, but she was not an unattractive woman. Her son had sandy hair and was lying on the floor and crying, slamming a stuffed cow on the floor angrily. The sobbing woman looked incredibly stressed, but also relieved to see Laurel in the doorway. "Young miss!" The woman called, looking at her through her blurring tears. "Would you do me a favor? Come in, please."

Laurel looked at her cautiously, mostly focusing on the child. "What can I do for you, ma'am?" The woman picked up her child and handed her off to Laurel. She grabbed her shawl off of the hook on the wall and started to wrap it around her shoulders.

"Just for a few hours, miss, I'll reward you as best I can… Jack's a good boy, little ditzy, won't cause you any trouble. I've got to go after his father… oh! I needed to go get some bread too, would you mind? I'll reward you generously. Please…" The frazzled woman looked into Laurel's eyes and she saw nothing but determination and honesty. She couldn't refuse her. There was too much that the woman needed, and the boy needed a father. Every child needs its parents…_until the day they don't need you anymore, _she thought spitefully. The woman, on her way out, threw some money at Laurel. "For bread, and anything else you need." She ran out, closed the door, and left Jack with Laurel.

_Maybe, _thought she, _this is my purpose._

…later…

Laurel coddled the little boy and played with him and his stuffed cow. The boy was so fascinated by the toy that he hardly noticed his mother was gone and had left him with her. Besides he didn't mind Laurel much to begin with. Now that all the shouting had stopped, he had stopped crying. Jack, well, he was a well behaved child. He was so much better than the princes and princesses, at least as far as Laurel could tell. "Wanna go to the bakery?" She asked him and he nodded without probably understanding what she said. He wasn't the most intelligent of toddlers, but he seemed to understand the concept of _go_. He was probably the same age as the littlest princess, and he had a lot of similar mannerisms (_maybe it's the age, _she thought): grabby hands reaching up for her to pick him up. She picked him up and slung him on her hip, clutching his stuffed cow with the other hand. As they exited the house she handed him the cow and he started to pet it. _He loves his cow, _Laurel observed, _what would he be like with a real one? That would provide them with milk, cheese…_

Laurel, with Jack on her hip, headed back into the woods with a new motivation—she was no longer running from her job, she had found one (no matter how temporary it was) and she was ready to help Jack and his mother as best she could. For now, all she was needed for was to watch the boy and get the bread from the baker.

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yay! The woman in the woods, in case this chapter didn't help clear it up, is Red's Grandmother... I hope that this installment went over well with you all, and I want to keep posting speedily! Next time we will be meeting the baker... please review and let me know if you have any ideas!_


	4. Boyd Baker

Boyd sat on a stool by the fire, his cheeks dusted with flour and his apron covered in dough. No one came into the shop on a Monday. _Why didn't I just close the shop for the day_, he asked himself, knowing he wouldn't get an answer. His mother and father had the store open six days a week—all but Sunday, and that worked well for their business. _I'm not my mother or my father. _But he had a tradition to uphold, he was the new baker.

All the bread he had baked fresh for the day, and all he really carried was bread. He wasn't an expert baker—given he had no one to teach him. Each day he woke up at dawn to get baking, and before sunset he'd close the shop with all his bread sold and a little left for him. Recently he had enough money to go over to the next village and get some meat, fixing himself a little sandwich to have for dinner. Although he lived on his own and had since he was a child, he loved his business and found it difficult to be lonely.

His parents had died when he was a baby (or so he was led to believe) in a baking accident. The woman next door, an infamous and ugly witch, watched him grow up and made sure he was on the right path. By the time he was seven he was working hard as a baker and learning how to make (actually quite awful) bread. As he grew older his bread got better, and people always came to him to buy bread. Now he was twenty years old, a hardworking business owner, and an honest man. He only hoped he was someone that could make them proud.

Boyd watched the flames, wondering when something interesting would happen. He knew they had to happen—they seemed to happen to everyone else. The customers told him about them: engagements, new babies, weddings, promotions, new jobs… he didn't know any of that. He had heard that things like that were magical and miracles, but it seemed like he didn't know anything but, well, bread. Bread was his life. Boyd knew that there must've been more.

He saw a woman approaching his store wearing a black cape, with a calf on a rope and a little boy on her hip. She opened the door as best she could and he stood up from his stool to see her a little better. "Livestock has to stay outside." He informed her as she took off her hood.

She was striking.

Boyd had never met a young lady quite like this one. Her long honey blonde hair was tied up in a braid and thrown over her shoulder, and her green eyes stared into his soul. She looked young, but not quite too young to be the child she held's mother. _A girl like that must be married_, he figured, _all pretty girls are…_ "I—um—come in, bring the cow. We really should have a way to tie them up out there." He said nervously, scratching his head.

Laurel smiled and helped the cow over the doorway and looked at the baker. _He seems a little young to be a baker_, she thought. He was tall… tall enough, taller than her, and he had a decent build. His eyes were very blue and he smiled at her. He was positively covered in flour (perhaps that came with being a baker, though) and he even had some flour in his scruffy beard.

"What's a young lady like you doing with a cow anyways?" He asked, toweling off his face with his apron.

She looked at the cow and then at the child. "A cow provides food, Jack and his family will always need food…" She looked at the bread. "And a loaf of bread, please."

He tried to find the prettiest loaf of bread he had. On Mondays he didn't worry as much about the appearance of the bread, mostly because no one ever came in on Mondays. "Jack, what a strong name. Your son, I presume?"

She shook her head.

_Thank god, _thought he.

Boyd continued to try to find some pretty bread. "So what's your name?" He asked, then tried to backtrack. "Part of my job, you know, I like to know my customers by name."

"Laurel." She answered him softly, then asked a similar question. "And you didn't tell me your name. I like to know my baker by name." She was sarcastic and had quite a bite to her, and somehow he found that charming.

He dusted off his hand and offered for her to shake it. "Boyd Baker." _Of course, _thought Laurel, _the baker's last name is Baker. _Did she have a last name? If she did she assumed it was Butler… she never was called with a last name, so she never asked… "And Jack… that's what you said the boy's name was, correct?" She nodded. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you both. And your bread…" He handed her a decent loaf. She started to reach for some of the money that Jack's mother gave her… "No no, it's free. Don't worry."

"I must pay you." She continued to reach for money while the boy grabbed the bread and starting gnawing on its leathery exterior.

He shook his head and grabbed her chin, gently scooping it up so she looked at him. Boyd didn't know why he did what he was doing, but it just came… natural. "Don't worry about payment. Head back home to your mistress, and get the child inside before dark."

She reluctantly started out the door. "I _will _find a way to repay you, someday." She continued out and closed the door.

He watched her through the dirty windows. _I'm sure you will, Laurel._ He thought, putting his elbows down on the floured counter. _But next time… I'll clean up shop._ So he started to dust up the flour, locked the door, and sat down to a loaf of bread for his dinner. He watched the witch next door tending her garden, as she did every night, and he knew—just for a moment—that his routine had changed forever because of that girl.

The witch, when Boyd looked away, smirked to herself. She had found the last piece of her puzzle.

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hope this short little chapter was alright... please let me know! Review please!_


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